Working On It
by Miss Judged
Summary: NickOC Romance. Boy meets girl, boy likes girl...you know how it is. Some references to Grave Danger later on. I'm sure you can imagine how I feel about reviews. Chapter Seven now up and running!
1. First Impressions

Roberta Mankiller stared at her identification tag in dismay. Of course, when she had filled out the obligatory information forms the week before starting her job at the Las Vegas Crime Lab, she hadn't considered how her name might look, hanging around her neck. She had always hated it, in a secret, guilty way. Roberta was her mother's name, and she would never forget her mother—the trials she had been through, to give her daughter a better life. And her last name, well, it was a name of her people, and to loathe it was to loathe the history and heritage of a proud, but misunderstood culture. For as long as she could remember, she had insisted upon being called "Robbie", and her guilt had over this insistence had only grown in the past fifteen years. And now, standing in the lobby of her new place of work, she sighed as she pulled the identification tag over her head.

Robbie walked through the hallway towards Dr. Grissom's office. She took several deep breaths, attempting to quell her nervousness. But she was all-too aware at how different this place was than home. For one, she knew that, as long as she lived in Las Vegas, she would never experience snow. She had constantly complained about shoveling, and snowsuits, and freezing toes, when she had lived in Winnipeg, but now that she was in the Southern United States, she found herself feeling homesick.

She knocked apprehensively on the door labeled, "G. Grissom, Supervisor". The man she recognized as Gil Grissom sat pensively behind the desk, facing an attractive woman with strawberry-blonde hair. They both looked up when she knocked, and Grissom waved her in.

"Robbie, I was just telling Catherine about you."

The woman stood at this, and extended a hand to Robbie. "Catherine Willows. Nice to meet you."

"Robbie Mankiller. Likewise." She smiled nervously. This woman seemed nice enough; if all of her other co-workers would follow suit, she'd be sittin' pretty.

There was an awkward moment as the two women waiting expectantly for the other to do something, and, lacking this, or any interference from their supervisor, Catherine cleared her throat.

"Well, I was just about to start my shift. I'll grab Warrick and head to Summerland." She nodded at Grissom and Robbie, and stepped past her new colleague into the hallway.

Which left Roberta Mankiller standing uncomfortably in front of her supervisor's desk, waiting for him to give her some sort of instruction. He stood, and she was surprised to find herself not feeling immediately inferior. He had a comforting presence, but a strong one, at that. Robbie was not nearly as tall as him; her five-foot-four stature hardly held a candle to his nearly six-foot build, but he didn't loom over her in the way men usually had.

"I'll show you around; I'm sure you'll want to get started as soon as possible." He said, his slate-grey eyes gently probing her. At twenty-seven years old, she felt like a child in his office. "But first, a mandatory blood donation."

Robbie was taken aback. "Why?" She immediately regretted it. Men didn't usually like to have questions asked of them. In her experience, it was their way, or…well, she didn't like to think about it.

But Grissom wasn't angry; he merely scoffed casually at her inquiry. "Oh, so many reasons."

Shrugging, she pulled up her sleeve, to reveal a black-and-white portrait of a child's face on her bare forearm. Before Grissom could ask anything, though, there was a knock at the door behind Robbie.

"Yes, Nick?" Grissom asked, slight irritation showing through his calm demeanor.

Nick said nothing for a long moment. His eyes were fixed on the beautiful Aboriginal girl seated before him. She had the characteristic dark skin, high forehead, and broad features of her people, but the way she used these traits was uncanny. Her almost-black hair hung long past her shoulders, to midway down her back, and it was so straight, so shiny…he immediately longed to run his fingers through it. Her dark, reflective eyes were framed by equally dark eyelashes, longer than was typical, curving outward in a beautiful, natural way. Above her left eye, a tiny silver ring clutched to the end of her eyebrow, matching the multiple piercings on the ear over which that long, beautiful hair hadn't fallen. She wore loose-fitting cargo jeans, and a black, long-sleeved, v-neck t-shirt. All of this Nick Stokes observed in the two seconds it took him to remember why he was there. Never let it be said that he wasn't a good CSI.

Noticing his younger colleague's distraction, Grissom spoke up. "Uh, Nick, did you need help with something?"

Reluctantly, he tore his eyes from the native bombshell, to look at his supervisor. "Yeah, uh, I was just going to say that I got a call out to Tropicana. A lead on my missing person's."

Grissom nodded. "Alright, well, you can take Robbie with you."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "Who's Robbie?" He was more interested in the girl in front of him, to be completely honest.

Grissom ushered Robbie out of her chair as he introduced them. "Nick Stokes, Robbie Mankiller. You two will be working together."


	2. What a Surprise

The car ride to Tropicana was filled with an awkward silence. Finally, Nick cleared his throat and looked over at his passenger.

"So. Mankiller. That's neat. That's, what…Navajo?" Of course, he had no idea what tribe she belonged to; he could only assume based on her appearance that she was Aboriginal, at all.

She smiled at him politely. "Mankiller is Cherokee, actually. It was my father's name. My mother went by Ahtahkakoop, which is Cree. It means 'star blanket'. So, really, my full name is Roberta Kiche Ahtahkakoop Mankiller. Kiche means 'sky spirit'."

Nick looked at her, clearly impressed. "I believe that's my first lesson in Aboriginal names." The woman had a distinctly youthful air to her; he figured her to be no older than twenty-one. This struck him as odd, but he had the impression that she had known Grissom prior to joining the Lab, so maybe that was how she got the job. One thing was for sure, Greg was going to be all over her, with her large black eyes and calm, young demeanor.

She smiled at him, showcasing perfect white teeth. "And I assume you're not from around here, either?" She had obviously detected his Southern accent.

He laughed. "You would be right in that assumption. Texas, actually. Came here about eight years ago. Vegas sure is different from Texas. I was raised on a ranch in Fort Worth…not exactly the same thing as," He gestured vaguely. "The strip."

She nodded knowingly. "I've only lived here a few months, but I don't think I'll ever get used to the noise and the…light. It's like it never sleeps."

Nick was struck by how profound she seemed to be, already philosophizing about the culture of Vegas to someone who was almost a complete stranger. "Yeah, I don't know if you can ever really get used to it. Where did you live before Vegas?"

"Winnipeg. Well, just outside of Winnipeg to be completely accurate…" She trailed off as she gazed out the window. Nick gave her a moment before pursuing the conversation.

"Were you a criminalist there, too?" He was genuinely interested in this girl, with her mysterious dark eyes and soft, but somehow, hardened, voice. She had the sensitive quietness of a victim, but with the determination and strength of an aggressor.

She laughed as if the very suggestion was ridiculous. "No, no I wasn't a criminalist in Winnipeg. I'm actually only recently qualified. You could say I got off to a late start." Her dark eyes flashed. "And when Gil offered me a job here, I figured I had nothing to lose by leaving."

"You knew Grissom before?"

"Oh, yeah. I've known him since I was a kid." She laughed reminiscently. "He was the first cop I didn't hate, actually."

Nick didn't know how to respond to this, so he just laughed, and the ride was silent until they arrived at Tropicana.

"So, this is a missing person's case that was filed a few days ago. Guy said his wife didn't come home from work; said she was usually home by five-thirty to take their son to soccer, cook dinner, and pick up their daughter from swimming lessons. We didn't really have any leads, but we got a call from Brass—our detective—that they found her car here." He pointed to a black Escalade sitting in the parking lot.

"Well, I see the crime here." said Robbie.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, chick thinks that, because she drives an expensive—if ugly—car, she gets to take up two parking spaces." She raised an eyebrow at Nick and laughed. He couldn't help but join in her laughter. Like her depth of character and serious tone, it was contagious.

Brass approached to find them opening their kits, giggling. "Am I interrupting Happy Hour?"

Nick looked up. "Hey, Jim, we were just going to process the car. But I don't know what you think we'll find." He shone his flashlight into the car. It was after ten o'clock, and all natural light had virtually disappeared. "No signs of a struggle, no obvious biologicals. Car actually looks pretty clean."

Robbie was just standing there, looking at the car pensively. Nick looked up at her. "Penny for your thoughts?"

She nodded slowly. "I was just thinking…my car is never this clean. I mean, a working mom with two active kids? Even if she's a neat freak, I would expect to see soccer cleats, school books, maybe a briefcase, workout bag, something like that."

Nick walked over to her. "You're right. I mean, this is just too clean."

"Exactly. I know I don't drive a nice car like this, but even so, my kids never hesitate to keep it a mess. This car has been detailed very recently." She continued to look through the car, then looked up to see Nick looking at her, a look of shock upon his face. "What?"

It took a moment for him to respond. "Uh…nothing. I guess we'll just haul this to the Lab."

But his mind was racing. All he could think was, 'She has kids!'


	3. An Unpleasant Surprise

Back at the Lab, Nick and Robbie strolled down the hallway, conversing casually on their way to the garage. Though not presenting itself as being probative, the vehicle definitely warranted further inspection if Robbie's initial deductions were accurate.

As they passed the DNA lab, an excited Greg Sanders jumped out.

"Hey, Nick, how's it going?" The question was innocent, casual, but Nick detected that tone that irritated him so. The 'are you OK?' tone was really getting on his nerves. Ever since his ordeal with being buried alive, he had felt like the lab baby, people constantly babysitting him in their minds. And when he actually did want to talk about it, he had been disappointed. The death of Kelly Gordon had elicited a pathetic, "So, that's it" from his supervisor, and little more besides from his other colleagues. Nonetheless, he did not let on that he was becoming increasingly annoyed.

"Pretty good, just takin' the newbie to the garage to process a car. By the way, Greg Sanders, Robbie Mankiller." He introduced them, gesticulating between his two co-workers. The look in Greg's eyes told Nick that it would not be long before he asked her out.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you." He said as he took her hand in a firm but gentle handshake, making strong eye contact all the while. "Good to see a fresh face around here." When Nick and Robbie continued toward the garage, he called out, "I'll see you soon, then."

Robbie laughed easily, and turned to reply to Greg as she and Nick proceeded down the hallway. "I should hope so. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for some DNA to shoot to you for comparison." Once they were out of earshot, she asked Nick, "So, is he always that much of a flirt?"

"Oh, yeah, he's scared off his fair share of lab techs."

"And I'm sure you would deny doing likewise." She retorted playfully, shooting him a joking smirk.

Nick blushed. "Who, me? Nah." He replied sarcastically.

They were at the garage now, standing before the black Escalade.

"So, I'm thinking this is going to be a huge job; if it has been detailed, we're missing most of the evidence. If there is any, of course, and little Miss Homemaker didn't just up and leave one day without telling her hub." Nick could tell that Robbie was frustrated by the daunting task of processing an essentially spotless car. No doubt, she had expected more glamorous work in Vegas.

"Well all we can do is try, right?" The optimism of his voice was a lie; it always was these days. The nightmares had subsided somewhat, but he hadn't been in an elevator, closet, pantry, or any other confined space since the kidnapping. Sometimes he would wake up in the middle of the night and find himself terrified of everything. Hyperventilating, he would lie in bed shaking as he waited for the light of day to save him from his fear. Sometimes he was too claustrophobic to even go inside his own bathroom.

Robbie nodded. "I guess we should get started." She pulled on her gloves and opened the front passenger door. Following suit, Nick opened the rear driver's-side door and climbed in, combing the entire vehicle with his five senses. Seeing that the carpet of the trunk was a slightly different shade than the rest of the interior, he climbed over the seat and into the trunk, where he crouched as he pulled up on the corner of the carpet.

After a few minutes, he managed to pull up the carpet, to reveal a small hole in the metal beneath. And inside the hole—imagine his pride—a .45 caliber bullet. He was about to call out to Robbie to grab his tweezers, when he looked around to realize where he was.

On all sides, he was surrounded by car. Immediately, his pulse quickened and he broke out in a cold sweat. _Don't freak out, man, just don't freak out_, he told himself, but he nonetheless felt the familiar trappings of panic take hold. He tried frantically to push open the trunk door, but with no luck. It wouldn't budge. It had to be opened from the outside. Shaking like a leaf, he maneuvered himself to climb back over the top of the back seat, but in his panic he was not as nimble as he usually was.

He was covered in sweat now, pounding on the trunk window, when it finally came open. He jumped out into the open space of the garage, and ran to the door which led to the parking lot. In his panic, he didn't see that Robbie had pulled open the trunk from the outside, and watched in shock as he leapt out of the vehicle, then the building. After the scene registered itself, she hesitantly followed him outside, where he sat against the building, panting.

"Nick…are you OK?" It was a stupid question, and she knew it, but she didn't know what else to say.

He looked up at her, his face pale and covered in perspiration. For a moment, they just looked at each other, then he spoke. "Sorry. I, uh, I get a little claustrophobic." He realized the limit of his answer, but had no idea how to explain to this virtual stranger, how, only a few months prior, he had spent a day underground, covered in ants, constantly wondering if he should put his gun to use.

She just looked at him. Having been through so much, she knew the signs of someone who had been traumatized. She could identify in an instant any fellow sufferer, and damned if Nick Stokes didn't fit the profile to a Texas T.

"You don't have to apologize." She said softly as she lowered herself to the pavement beside him. She looked up at the stars, only to find that she couldn't see any. So bright were the lights of Vegas. She smiled at him. "Why don't you tell me about it."


	4. Home at Last

Robbie stood in the locker room at six o'clock in the morning. Her first shift was over, and she was beat. Though she had spent the past few weeks adjusting her internal clock to the "graveyard" schedule, nothing could have prepared her for such fatigue. And she still had the day to face.

After Nick's claustrophobic outburst, she had agreed to go out for breakfast with him, but first she had to go home. The kids weren't going to get themselves up and ready for school.

"So, I'll pick you up at nine?" Nick asked as he opened his locker, four down from his. She hadn't noticed him walk in.

"That would be great." She smiled brightly at him, closed up her locker, and said goodbye before heading to her SUV to go home. She took a deep breath before turning the key in the ignition and continuing toward her house. Sometimes she needed to take a moment to collect herself. _So many responsibilities…_

Upon entering her home, she was struck by how quiet it was. Of course, it was only six-forty five. Twelve hours from now, the house would be bustling with the four occupants' lives, but for the time being, the house was asleep.

But not for long. Robbie strode across the main floor, picking things up off of the floor as she went: a foam football, a math textbook; the trappings of hers sons' youth. To the far right of the room was a door, on a ninety-degree angle from the elevator her sister used. Opening the door, she was in her sister's room, an L-shaped bedroom with a staircase immediately at the door. Walking down the stairs, she was in her eldest son's half-floor, in which was his bedroom and bathroom. She sat down on the edge of his bed and gently shook her teenage son to consciousness.

"Hey, baby, it's time to get up if you want to shower before school."

He mumbled his acknowledgement and pulled himself upright in bed. Patrick Mankiller had been born with achondroplasia; at seventeen, he stood at four feet and three inches. Upon seeing their genetic anomaly of a son, his teen parents immediately gave him up for adoption, and he had been in the foster care system for fifteen years when Robbie had brought him home for good.

That was two years ago. Now, the seventeen-year old boy looked back at his mother with hazel eyes as he woke up.

"Thanks, Robbie." He had never been able to bring himself to call her 'mom'; he met her when he was fifteen. Back in Winnipeg, she had given him a life he had never imagined. With her help, he became confident, charismatic, playful, funny, and, yes, a real player with the ladies. When she had announced to him a year ago that she was moving the family to Las Vegas, his initial reaction was anger; he had built a life in Winnipeg. He had a girlfriend, a role as class President, he was top of his class. But he knew that she wouldn't ask him to leave if it wasn't serious, so he swallowed his resentment and moved thousands of miles away, to a country where they didn't call them 'kilometres', and, in the past six months living here, didn't have a single complaint.

Walking back up the stairs, Robbie stopped to wake her sister up, but decided against it. Pey had likely been up past midnight, trying to coax Patrick off of the computer so that he would be in some sort of shape to wake up for school the following day. Robbie considered herself to be forever indebted to her sister, with whom she had lived her entire life, who cared for her two sons while she was at work, who moved from Winnipeg without a single complaint. She deserved to sleep in.

Taking the elevator to the second above-ground storey, Robbie turned to her immediate left to enter her biological son's room. She didn't love Sammy more than Patrick, but her feelings for him were different in a subtle way. She sat on his bed for a long time before waking him, marveling that her body had created something so beautiful, so perfect. Granted, he was perfect, but she couldn't blame that on him; she was the one who had done drugs while she had been pregnant with him. When he was born, three months premature, weighing five pounds, he suffered from an addiction to cocaine, thanks to her use of a crack pipe during her pregnancy. At twelve years old, Sammy was deaf due to the excessive oxygen he had received while in the Intensive Care Unit at the hospital in his first days of life.

Not a day went by that Robbie didn't feel the weight of guilt upon her, for robbing her only biological child of his born-right to hear. He was a beautiful boy, too, with skin slightly lighter than his mother's, and bright blue eyes. Still small for his age, he was slightly shorter than his dwarf brother.

After waking her son, Robbie went into her own bedroom across the hall, changed into grey sweatpants and a dark blue sweatshirt, pulled her hair into a bun atop her head, and went downstairs to prepare breakfast.

She had just begun to make breakfast when her sister wheeled out of her bedroom. Peyaknikamew—one who sings—Mankiller had not walked since she was seven years old. At twenty-two, she looked years older than her twenty-seven year-old sister, who had led a life of hardship of a different sort.

Pey yawned as she wheeled herself across the floor towards her sister, who stood in the kitchen, with her back to her.

"What time is it?" She asked when she neared her sister.

"Oh, you're up. Sorry if I woke you." Robbie was always apologizing. "It's seven-thirty. Patrick had better hurry if he wants to catch his bus. And I have to shower and get ready." She said with a grin. "I have a date in an hour and a half."

Pey looked at her in shock. Robbie hadn't been on a date in years.


	5. Meet the Clan

Nick Stokes yawned sleepily as he cautiously pushed open the front door to his house. He was tired, overworked, and distracted, but he was always cautious. This was, after all, the home in which he had almost died, courtesy of Nigel Crane. It was the house he had come home to, after nearly losing his life, courtesy of Walter Gordon.

He was always cautious.

Falling into bed, he checked the clock on his nightstand before closing his eyes; it was only six-thirty, so he decided to let himself sleep for a couple of hours before heading off on his date with Robbie.

Thinking of his beautiful new colleague, he fell asleep grinning as he imagined how their date would go, and making a mental list of all the things he could do to screw it up.

He had become cautious, but also exponentially more diffident than anyone knew.

He woke at eight-thirty am, showered and dressed, then drove to the address Robbie had written on the back of a Las Vegas Crime Lab business card. Her writing was neat, slanting sharply to the left. In some distant part of his mind, Nick wondered what that revealed about her psyche.

Upon pulling into her driveway, he was struck at the size of her home. He hadn't imagined that she would live in such spacious elegance. Now more nervous than before, he walked up the steps to her front door, and rang the bell. He heard barking and yelling from inside the house.

"I'll get it!" called a man's voice. But Nick didn't have time to wonder why a man would be answering the door, because in that instant, the door swung inward to reveal a teen dwarf. Nick stood speechless for a moment, faced with the least expected scenario. Finally, he found his words and began rambling.

"Hi, I'm Nick Stokes from the—" he cut himself off, reminding himself that this wasn't an interview with a suspect. He switched introductions. "Is your…Robbie in?" He could feel himself flushing beet red.

The boy laughed loudly. "Oh, man, you have got to start taking it easy." He opened the door more widely, ushered his guest inside. "I'll go get her. Have a seat."

Nick walked in slowly, taking in his surroundings. In front of him, fifteen feet away, was the kitchen area, separated from the dining area by a backwards L-shaped island of countertop and sink. To the right of the kitchen was a mahogany dining set, with six chairs. It faced a forest-green couch and chair set, accompanied by a mahogany coffee table, upon which sat several neatly organized books. In the far right corner was a small room which he assumed to be a bathroom, what appeared to be an elevator, and another door. Complying with the little person's offer, he sat down on the green cozy chair, and waited for Robbie to come down.

He thought the situation couldn't get more strange, but was proven wrong when an attractive woman descended the elevator and wheeled herself towards him. He assumed she was in some way related to Robbie, because they were looked very similar. But this woman looked older, somehow; maybe it was the bags under her eyes, the slightly dirty hair, or the general air of malcontent with which she came towards him.

"Hey, I'm Pey. Robbie's sister." She extended a hand, and he shook it. "You must be Nick. Thanks for getting her out of the house. She really needs a life." She laughed as she said this, straightening the books on the table all the while, and Nick found his original impression of her to be wrong; she wasn't a somber, depressed older woman, she was a bright and happy young woman who had made the best of a difficult life.

Nick smiled. "So I met, uh…" He trailed off. He didn't know the boy's name, and certainly wasn't in any position to ask who the Little Person who answered the door was. Luckily, he didn't have to finish.

Pey smiled, looking more like Robbie than ever. "Little guy? Kinda a smartass?" When Nick looked unsure of how to answer, she answered. "Must have been Patrick. Sammy never answers the door." Wondering who 'Sammy' was, Nick didn't have time to ask, because at that moment, Robbie came out of the elevator, holding the hand of a young boy. She smiled at Nick and greeted him warmly before pulling open the door near her and yelling into it, "Patrick, I'm leaving right _now_!" To which came a muffled response from beyond the door. Satisfied, she led the young boy whose hand she still held to the sofa, where she sat down beside him.

"Hey, sorry things are so hectic, Nick, I thought the kids would be off to school by now, but of course they missed the bus. So I have to run out and take them to school, but you can come with, if you want, and we can go out afterwards." She had the harassed tone of a single working mother, and Nick immediately respected her more than ever.

"Sure. That's great." He smiled his charming grin, and looked up as Patrick entered the room, fully adorned with a backpack.

"Let's get going." Robbie said as she looked at her watch. "You guys are going to be late, but I'll write you a note." This, she signed as well as said, and for the first time, Nick realized that the young boy beside her—he couldn't have been more than ten or so—must be deaf.

After dropping the kids off at their schools, they headed to a small diner uptown. Sitting in their booth, Robbie realized how many questions Nick must have.

"You're probably wondered how I ended up with a fifteen-year old dwarf son, a twelve-year old deaf son, and a handicapped sister." She conceded as she sipped her coffee.


	6. Long Story Short

"I guess you could say it all started when I was twelve," began Robbie as she gazed across the table at Nick. He looked good, in a burgundy polo shirt and dark jeans. "To understand how it happened, you have to understand some things about where I grew up."

Nick raised an eyebrow. "What, Winnipeg?"

"Well, not quite Winnipeg. I was raised on a reserve just outside of Winnipeg. Some would call those parts a ghetto. And in places with reserves, there's a lot of animosity between the Natives and the Whites. I used to say that they victimized us, but now I realize that it's more than that. We hated them just as much as they hated us. I was raised in the midst of a mini-war, where it seemed like my only options for the future were staying inside the reserve, inhaling fumes in my friends' garages, or going out into the city and experiencing the hate that everyone seemed to be so afraid of." She paused as she sipped her steaming coffee.

"I didn't realize things were like that in Canada." And it was true; he had always assumed that his neighbours to the North were peaceful, igloo-dwelling people.

"I saw the worst of it. Canada in general is really great. I'm coming from a lot of bad experiences." She sighed. "I was twelve when we were attacked. My parents, sister, and I were coming home from a movie in town, and two guys jumped us. Both of my parents died, and Pey broke her spine. I walked away with only fifteen stitches and a concussion. They didn't have to attack Pey. She was seven years old." Her eyes were sad as she said this, reflecting the guilt with which she lived everyday. "As it turned out, one of the guys who attacked us was some hotshot football player. Pey and I won…" She hesitated, unsure of whether or not to reveal the large some of money. "A lot of money, in civil court. But I was still angry. I joined a gang at twelve, started smoking crack at thirteen, got pregnant when I was fifteen. Hence Sammy." She tried to sound casual with this last statement, but couldn't fool Nick.

"I can't believe you're coming from so much hardship, to be so successful." He looked at her with a serious expression upon his face. "You should be really proud, getting off crack, out of the ghetto, raising two kids. Working a demanding job."

She shook her head. "No, I don't have much to be proud of." She held open her right hand to reveal a black "S" tattoo. "I joined Sioppes because I felt alone. While I was smoking crack, selling myself and drugs, vandalizing local businesses, and shoplifting, Pey was the one who was actually alone. For four years, I ignored my responsibilities to her. It took having a baby with a cocaine addiction to show me what an idiot I was." She closed her hand and put it in her lap. "When Sammy was born, I realized that I had been wasting too much time and energy on my anger. I cleaned up, went back to school, got a place with Pey and Sammy. Three years ago, I graduated University with a Bachelor's in Forensic Science, then I adopted Patrick a year later. And now…" It was a long time before either of them spoke.

"And now you're doing a great job at being a single mother of two. You left behind the ghetto for a job and a responsible life. You're a success story, Robbie, and you should give yourself some credit for it." Nick considered reaching across the table for her hand, and decided against it. It was too soon, and their conversation too serious.

"That's really nice of you to say, Nick, and I appreciate the effort, but you're wrong." Robbie stared at her hands. "I could have had this tattoo removed, but I know that would be wrong. I'm not in Sioppes anymore, but I'll never forget my roots. I don't hate the ghetto, because it made me who I am. I come from the school of hard knocks, but I don't knock it back, because I know that it made me a fighter."

Nick nodded. He could understand that. He had been through a lot in his life, had been forced to move on, because one thing you learn in Vegas is that life doesn't stop, just because you were molested as a child, or stalked, or framed for the murder of a prostitute, or buried alive.

"I just thought you deserved to know what you're getting yourself into here." She said sincerely. "No doubt you were wondering how I ended up living with three people who are legally categorized as being 'disabled'." She smiled as she said this, and Nick knew that she, like he, was tough as nails. No matter what life threw at her, she would persevere.

The rest of the meal was much more lighthearted. Nick talked about life in Texas, they shared funny stories about their families, and she listened to him as he told her about everyone in the Lab.

"Well, you probably know Grissom better than any of us. You know how he can be."

Robbie nodded. She had met him when he had traveled to Winnipeg for a conference when she was fifteen. She had tried to pick his pocket; he took her out for lunch. _"We've got to take care of that baby,"_ he had said with a smile, indicating her then-pregnant belly.

"I think you'll get along well with Catherine. She's got a daughter a little older than Sammy, and she's a tough cookie, like you. Sara's a lot like Grissom, so you should get on well with her, too. Bit moody, that one." He said with a wink. "You haven't met Warrick yet; he's a really good guy, a friend of mine. And, of course, you've met Greg." They laughed together. "He's going to make a lot of passes at you for the first few weeks, but I'm sure you'll survive. He probably already loves you, just because you've relieved him of his duties as the Lab newbie."

"He told me he used to be a techie."

"Oh, yeah, he only qualified as a Level One recently. But he does a good job."

After Nick insisted upon paying, they went to his car, and sat there awkwardly for a moment before he built up his courage and said, "Well, my shift doesn't start for almost twelve hours, if you want to go catch a movie or something."

Robbie smiled sweetly. "That would be great."


	7. What We Bargained For

"You're kidding me." Nick said in shock as he and Robbie walked back to his car after the movie. It was overcast, but the early afternoon sun was making an appearance above them for the first time that day.

"No, I'm serious!" Robbie's eyes were wide as she insisted.

"No way, man. I'll give you twenty-three, tops. And that's pushing it."

Robbie laughed and pulled out her wallet. "You wanna make it interesting? I have my driver's license in here, and I will bet you anything you want that I'm twenty-seven years old." No one ever believed her when she told them her age.

"Alright, I see how it is." He had a sudden idea. "If you can prove that you're twenty-seven, I'll take you out to any restaurant in Vegas. Any place you want."

Robbie smiled. He was working right into her hand. "OK, then, Stokes, let's see the magic number." They were at his car now, and she had her back to the passenger side door as she slowly, dramatically opened her wallet. She pulled out her license and held it up to Nick.

He laughed loudly. "You're kidding me! That's the best fake ID I've ever seen."

Robbie punched him playfully in the arm. "Dinner's on you, Mr. Stokes. I win." She said softly, silently cheering herself on as Nick moved closer.

"No, I think I do." He placed his right hand gently on her shoulder and moved down—she was so short—for a light kiss. It was not a particularly lengthy, or passionate kiss, but it was exactly what they both had bargained for. They broke apart smiling.


End file.
